


Restless Awakenings

by Dakoyone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Body Horror, Denerim alienage orphanage, F/M, Ghosts, Happy halloween, Horror, Supernatural phenomenon, Superstitions, is the scariest shit, stategically placed creepy children's rhymes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 06:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dakoyone/pseuds/Dakoyone
Summary: Spirits, demons, and shades are all easily dealt with, but what happens when the dead return with a vengeance?





	1. Do You Hear Me, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net 10/27/13
> 
> I spook very easily. This was my poor attempt at a cathartic release.
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Lyna Mahariel was often found wandering aimlessly across the many passages of Vigil's Keep in the middle of the night, a habit she picked up after the Blight, after the final battle... after Alistair's death. The pain of loss still affected her greatly, the promise of happiness gone within the blink of an eye. That, however, was not the cause of her bouts of insomnia.

No,  _that_  started in Denerim, after the demonic encounters within the alienage orphanage. There was no doubt that the evil presence had been cleansed from the dilapidated building at the sacrifice of the noble Ser Otto. It was the after effects that lingered and left her changed, possibly even broken. Since that experience, Lyna started seeing things in the corners of her vision...people, rather...people who were dead, or should be anyway.

The Dalish believed in a saying, "The last of life lingers in death."

It first started with Tamlen. After the Blight, once everyone parted ways, he appeared before her in her solitary camp one evening, sitting beside her before the fire as if nothing had happened between them. Lyna thought very little of it at the time, her mind and heart still reeling at the fact that Alistair was gone. She simply chalked Tamlen's reappearance up to hallucinations caused by heavy sleep deprivation. As if dreaming about darkspawn wasn't bad enough, she had to go and start dreaming of her lover's death over and over again.

But Tamlen was there and didn't seem intent on leaving anytime soon, and death aside, Lyna was grateful for the company.

"You sense me now," he said simply. Lyna didn't respond. She didn't trust herself to speak. "The others will come for you. For them, the last of life is riddled with resentment, hate, and bitterness. They will attack you."

Lyna remained silent, staring into her little campfire with blank eyes.

"Lethallan..."

She flinched visibly, tucking her knees up against her chest as she curled up into herself, "Let them come. I don't care anymore."

Tamlen disappeared then. He didn't stand up and take his leave or anything as mundane. He simply faded out of existence, leaving Lyna once again alone with her thoughts.

The next strange happening came in Denerim, after she was summoned by Queen Anora on Warden business. Lyna didn't even know why the Queen bothered. All she did was give her a fancy title and send her off to some...place in the North. Apparently other Wardens were there already. It would be a great party, if nothing else. All the food...

She passed through the Denerim marketplace on her way out of the city, content to stare at the ground in front of her instead of gazing about at the merchant stalls and wares. The atmosphere did nothing to quell the longing for a different time not so long ago. The smell of food from one of the general stores drew her attention, but the sudden smell of cheese hit her like a knife in her heart, forcing her to turn away.

_Do you hear me, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem?_

Lyna froze. Her tawny eyes darted from side to side.

_I am falling, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem, today._

A child's laugh ran through the air, seemingly from all sides, and Lyna stepped nimbly as she rotated in place, trying to find the source, not at all heeding the curious stares that she was drawing with her odd behavior.

_One, two, buckle my shoe._

A sharp crack sounded from the middle of the square, and Lyna turned just in time to see the merchant canopy sway precariously on one side before the entire structure snapped and collapsed on the stalls beneath it. Most of the shopkeepers managed to run out in time, but a few were still trapped within the wreckage. Denerim citizens rushed forward in a flurry of activity, some bending down to move away the heavy wooden beams, some cutting through the festive maroon and gold tarp, and the rest joining together to lift the victims up and away from the danger zone.

Lyna observed all of this from where she stood, feeling oddly detached from her surroundings. She knew she ought to help. She was the proclaimed Hero of Ferelden, after all, but her legs felt wooden, rooted in one place.

_Three, four, open the door._

She heard a low creaking sound, like a gate being lifted and searched for its source. Her eyes widened as she spotted the gate to the Alienage being raised...but there was no one manning the lever. She glanced back at the middle of the square. No one else seemed to have noticed the oddity, despite how loud the squeaks of rusty hinges were. With lips drawn into a thin line, Lyna moved stealthily away, curiosity overriding any sense of precaution she may have otherwise possessed.

_I'll just take a look_ , she told herself. The Alienage was supposed be deserted, after all.

The battle with the Archdemon in Denerim had not been kind to the slums. City elves had since been relocated to a temporary refuge near the outskirts of the city. Needless to say, the elves weren't too thrilled with that arrangement, especially given their living conditions now were worse than they had ever been at the Alienage. However, as Lyna made her way cautiously through the area and saw the state it was in now, it was really rather difficult to tell which setting was truly the more ideal evironment. Several of the older buildings had already collapsed. Termites infested the rotting wood, hollowing the molded beams from inside out.

The stench of death still lingered, as if… Lyna turned a corner and froze, glaring at the sight before her. The elves who had fallen during the battle lay there still, their corpses undergoing various stages of decomposition. The relocation must've taken place before the city elves were able to honor their dead. With clenched fists accompanied by a few choice curses directed at the  _shem'alas_  Queen, Lyna strode forward toward the center of the Alienage.  _Vhenadahl_  still stood proudly despite the deep gashes and burns that scored its bark. She rested a palm against the trunk of the great tree and prayed to the creator  _Falon'Din_  to guide her hand as she lay these wandering spirits to rest.

And  _Falon'Din_  heard her prayer.

The wind rustled the leaves far above her, and a shower of the tree's seeds fell all around her. She bowed her head reverently before setting her pack aside and getting to work. The labor was backbreaking and far from pleasant, moving the bodies by means of a handcart she found nearby and digging into the earth with a dented shovel that had been leaning against a crumbling building. The sun had nearly set by the time she had created seventeen mounds under the shadow of  _Vhenadahl_ , folding a single seed above each of their heads and offering prayers for their departed souls.

Her stomach had protested loudly throughout the entire afternoon, but she ignored it, wanting to finish her task before the day's end. Her head spun in reaction to her hunger and thirst, her waterskin long since drained dry. It was high time she returned to the market district. She glanced up at the sky, noticing for the first time just how dark it had gotten. If she were lucky, one of the food stalls might still have something left for her to purchase. She pushed herself wearily off the trunk of Vhenadahl, arching her spine just enough to stretch the ache out of her lower back as she headed back toward the gate. Except...the gate was shut. There were no guards manning it either. In fact, there were no guards stationed anywhere that she could see.

_Five, six, pick up sticks._

Her eyes widened, and she shivered at the sudden chill in the air. She heard the sounds of wood creaking behind her, as if the buildings themselves were being pressed down by a mysterious weight and would snap in mere moments, much like what had happened earlier in the market district.

_Seven, eight, lay then straight._

She turned warily, peering into the darkness of the Alienage.

_I'm a maiden, Ser Wilhem. Ser Wilhem?_

There, amidst the burial mounds she had made earlier, appeared to be a little girl running, criss-crossing between each. She laughed, and it was an eerie sound, echoing in the stillness of the evening. There was something unnatural about the little girl. There was a faint glow around her outline. Lyna couldn't make out her face, for she had yet to turn and look at her.

But when she did…

Lyna felt her breath catch in her throat, her entire body trembling fearfully in response to what she was seeing. From behind, the long tresses of wavy hair, the edges of pointed ears peeking out from between thick locks, the trailing hem of a nightgown too big for the tiny body that wore it, it all seemed very natural. When the little girl turned, however...where there should've been a face, there was a large wound like a crater, as if the face had been smashed in by a heavy, blunt object. Tatters of skin dangled off her jaw, and Lyna thought she saw pieces of bone where the skull had been cracked into pieces.

The little girl raised a hand, a finger pointed straight at Lyna, before dragging it downward in an arc and pointing to a door behind her, a door Lyna recognized as the one leading to the abandoned orphanage. Before she could bolt or scream, Lyna felt something heavy clamp down on her ankles before she was jerked forward, the force knocking her clean off her feet. Her head bounced painfully against the dirt, and she struggled to grasp at something, anything as she was dragged past the burial mounds, past the little ghostly girl, past  _Vhenadahl_ , and through the door that had suddenly swung open and just as quickly slammed shut as soon as she was thrown within.

_But I'm dying, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem. In pain._

She screamed throughout the night, but no one could hear her. No one could save her. The Alienage was supposed to be deserted, after all.


	2. As She's Become the Beast

Lyna clenched her teeth and rested her forehead against the cool surface of her desk, riding out another wave of convulsions that wracked her small body. She did her best to keep her episodes away from the curious and criticizing gazes of everyone around her. It was enough that she was an elf, a Warden-Commander, and an Arlessa. The nobles did not need more fuel added to the prejudice they had against her. Only one other person knew of her condition, and that was only because he was trained to recognize it for what it was.

Anders hadn't judged her, and she felt comfortable enough to confide with him the strange, supernatural activities she had witnessed...and had been a victim of. She still had no idea what had happened after that night in the Denerim Alienage. There had been pain, constant and considerable pain, and she had no idea how long she had been trapped within the darkness. The next thing she remembered was waking up in Goldanna's home, which was strange enough on its own. The fact that Alistair's half-sister looked like she herself had seen a ghost was not lost on her either. She did not wish to impose on the woman for too long, especially if there was a chance that whatever was in the Alienage had followed her back out. So after a bit of breakfast, she thanked the uncharacteristically generous woman and left, much to Goldanna's relief. That the woman then proceeded to bar her door and shutter all of her windows made Lyna blink, but she decided not to let it bother her.

That had been several weeks ago. Lyna frowned as she let the strange memories fade into the corners of her mind. Activity had certainly picked up significantly since then, starting from the day she stepped into Vigil's Keep. Just yesterday, they had picked up a new Warden from the ranks of the Legion of the Dead and had dropped an entire lyrium well on top of two broodmothers. Lyna was never fond of gruesome deaths, but the crunch that echoed against the stone walls as both broodmothers and their little hatchlings were unceremoniously crushed in the giant pit left her feeling incredibly satisfied.

At hearing her sigh of relief, Oghren had chuckled weakly, "I know exactly what you mean."

Lyna raised her head slightly before dropping it again. If she were completely honest with herself, she'd admit that she was quite proud of her progress so far. It wasn't everyday that a Dalish elf is thrust into the politics of managing an arling. Though there were a few minor disputes, most especially among the nobility, and several darkspawn sightings about the land that required her undivided attention, the arling in general was still standing relatively in one piece.

_Well done_ , she mentally patted herself on the back.

_Nine, ten, a big, fat hen._

Not again. Lyna was going to take a very strong sleeping draught and go straight to bed. She would deal with the rest of the requests and reports later. She arranged the papers before her, stacking them in neat piles she mentally titled "Done", "Not Done", and "Bann Esmerelle" before pushing out of the large chair and heading out into the hall. No one was awake at this hour other than the guards patrolling the grounds. She nodded to several who saluted her as she passed by.

_First day, they come and catch everyone._

Lyna groaned, "By the Dread Wolf, leave me alone!" She clutched her head with both hands, willing the whispers away.

"...Commander?" Nathaniel Howe stood before her with a book in his hand. He appeared to have just come from the library. "Are you alright?"

Despite their rocky introductions, Nathaniel had begun to develop a level of respect for his Warden-Commander, admiring her skill on the battlefield as well as her ability to adapt to the role of Arlessa. It also helped that he had just recently reunited with his sister Delilah, who had much to say concerning his misguided sense of justice. Lyna similarly had put aside her own prejudices, recognizing that he was not the cruel man his father was.

"F-fine," she stammered, quickly thinking of a reasonable way out of this predicament, "...uh, darkspawn. You know how they are," she chuckled weakly.

Nathaniel hummed, not at all convinced. He narrowed his eyes as he regarded the Dalish elf.

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

Lyna winced, an action that didn't go unnoticed by him. She bowed clumsily. "I bid you good night, Nathaniel," she muttered and made a hasty retreat down a side passage, feeling Nathaniel's eyes on her back every step of the way.

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

"Stop it!" Lyna growled, slamming her door behind her once she had reached the sanctuary of her quarters.

""I see you're a Dalish. Maric knew a Dalish elf once; never saw an equal with the bow before or since," a voice from behind the door startled her into whirling around, her daggers drawn and readied for a confrontation, but she froze. Loghain Mac Tir was leaning casually against the wall next to her door, his arms crossed before him, wearing an expression of calm respect and looking just as he did before the battle at Ostagar.

"But...you're dead."

The face of the man changed then, the wrinkles around his eyes appearing more prominent, and his lips curled up into a sneer, "Yes, I am, no thanks to you  _Grey Wardens_." He lifted a hand, his finger pointed toward her, and Lyna's body trembled, reacting to the feeling of deja vu. "There is a strength in you I've not seen anywhere since Maric died. His blood protects you still, but  _he_  is coming. 'The last of life lingers in death', and he is  _angry_." He lowered his head, his eyelids slipping closed as he focused, "My parting gift to you..."

Then he was gone. Lyna blinked and looked down. The broadsword felt heavy in her hands. It was not the same weapon he used during their duel at the Landsmeet, but it bore the same crest. But why would he give her…

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate._

The voice was louder this time, echoing off the stone walls of her room. She heard a whimpering noise and tilted her head, trying to determine the direction from which it came. There, in the armoire… Holding the sword steady in both hands, she stepped lightly toward it. The whimpering turned into a low wail as she neared the doors. Then it stopped. Silence lingered for a full beat before a child's laughter sounded.

_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn_.

The door swung open, creaking loudly on its hinges, and Lyna paled at the sight of the same girl that had stood before  _Vhenadahl_ , with the same gruesome wounds on her face, except now that she stood merely a few feet away, Lyna could also see the deep cuts and gashes running up and down the girl's arms and legs.

_I'm a maiden, Ser Wilhem...Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams...Ser Wilhem?_

The girl raised her hand again, finger pointed at Lyna. Lyna tried desperately to move, but somehow she lost all command over her body, like a marionette without its strings. The ghostly girl tilted her head, as if in thought, but her head swung so far that the bones of her neck popped, causing it to bob forward, swaying from side to side as it held together only by its skin. The girl laughed again.

The ground shook violently then, causing Lyna to lose what little balance that she had. She drove the point of the sword into the ground as she tried to steady herself, landing harshly on her knees into a pool of blood.

_Eleven, twelve, dig and delve._

Wide eyes gazed up at her surroundings, the setting of her room instantly changed into the broodmother's lair, as she remembered it from the Dead Trenches. Sacs of flesh and innards hung off the ceiling and grew up from the ground. Blood and guts painted the walls in macabre shades of red.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

Lyna kneeled there, staring in shock as the broodmother that they had killed, the one who once was the dwarf Laryn, sat anchored in a corner, gazing at her with hungry, beady eyes. There was not an inch of sanity left in her, just a constant hunger to breed and feed her children.

_Eighth day, we hate it as she is violated._

She heard movement behind her and rose to meet it, lifting the heavy sword and slashing it across a tentacle that had been whipping toward her. She quickly cut down another and another, but for all the strength she had gained from the past year of fighting, the sword was still too heavy for her arms. Her movements began to drag, and the broodmother took an opening to wrap a tentacle around the Dalish's throat and another around an ankle, lifting her high into the air, causing her to shriek in surprise.

Voices sounded from behind the door, ones she recognized as Anders, Nathaniel, and Oghren. The door shook under the heavy pounding of fists and feet but wouldn't open. Lyna didn't remember locking it.

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

The thing that was once Laryn smiled wide, her jaw opening wider and wider as her tentacles drew Lyna ever closer. Loghain's sword was still grasped firmly in her hand.  _I just need one shot_ , she thought desperately.

_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast_.

A harsh scream ripped Lyna's throat as she felt  _things_  burst forth from her skin, sending pain up and down every single nerve in her body. Her eyes were clenched shut; she dared not look to see the change happening to her.

Her name was still being yelled out from the other side of the door.

"Lyna!"

"Commander!"

Her eyes flew open just in time for her to see down the inside of the broodmother's throat. With a renewed cry, she thrust the blade down into the abyss, and the creature wailed, flailing its limbs about in agony, tossing Lyna clear to the other side of the room where she impacted against a wall and slid down in a boneless heap.

Her vision went in and out of focus as she saw the broodmother and the lair fade into nothingness. The little elven girl was still there however, standing in front of the armoire just as she had the entire time, head dangling off her neck and shoulders. Lyna blinked, and suddenly the girl was crouched down right in front of her, unsupported faceless head leaning awkwardly on the stone floor. She vaguely heard the door being smashed open.

_But I'm dying, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem. In pain._

"Oh, Maker, that's going to give me worse nightmares than darkspawn."

The elf ghost laughed one last time before fading away as well.

"Commander!" she felt herself being lifted up out of her sprawled position and into a strong pair of arms. "Ugh, look at that-lay her on the bed quickly."

"I don't like this," a gruff voice muttered, "smells a lot like broodmother to me."

"Just because she's covered in an unhealthy layer of innards doesn't mean there's a broodmother this high up in the Keep."

"I'm just sayin'. We all looked like that after...after we fought one. Except  _these_."

Lyna lay on her bed, her eyes open but completely unfocused. She had long since retreated into the safety of her mind, but she still felt it when long, tapered fingers ran along the length of her calf. She felt the punctures there, remembered the feeling of things trying to crawl out of her skin. Her body shuddered involuntarily even as her mind shut down even more, drawing her further into the peace of unconsciousness.

"Anders," Nathaniel stared at her face for the longest time, even after her eyelids drifted shut. He turned to look at the mage, a hard expression in his eyes, "make it flawless."

The healer tightened his jaw and nodded, drawing his magic forth and working well into the next day.


	3. Let the Blade Pass Through the Flesh

"How did you know to find me?"

Nathaniel turned to face Warden-Commander Lyna, who had only begun sitting up in bed the third day after Anders had healed her. He and Anders had just returned from a trip to Amaranthine, where they had purchased some much needed supplies from the merchants' quarter and helped the local citizenry with several personal requests. Anders was now restocking the infirmary, leaving Nathaniel to report in with the Commander.

He was in the middle of reading down the list expenditures when she spoke, voicing her single question.

"I had a...a feeling," he began. "I'm still not certain what it was. It was like some outside force was compelling me to follow after you. I'm fairly certain the others felt it as well. I remember a voice telling me 'save her'. We heard you scream then, and we found you...well..."

His memory was mostly hazy. He couldn't truly describe what he felt then, and it hurt his head trying to make sense of it. He wanted to say that he felt like an observer in his own body, that his very will was being driven by something...or someone else.

" _Ma serannas_."

Lyna furrowed her brows, curling her knees up and hugging them to her chest in anticipation of the next episode. The convulsions overtook her body instantly, crashing over her like violent waves. It took a bit longer this time for her limbs to stop quaking, and when she finally breathed and released a shaky sigh, she blinked, noticing the warm, hard body she was now leaning against. Nathaniel smelled like pine and forest moss, and Lyna couldn't resist the urge to press her nose against his leathers. He smelled like home...back home in the forests with her clan.

For his part, Nathaniel didn't know what drew him to her side at that moment. His body had moved before he could even consider it. It was disconcerting, to say the least. The most disturbing part of all was that, try as he might, he could not speak of it. The words were there, at the front of his mind and at the tip of his tongue, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all thought fled him. It was as if something did not want him to mention it at all.

.

Anders had strongly protested against Lyna's command to venture into the Wending Wood. It was clear to all the Wardens that she was still recovering, but when she heard Mistress Woolsey's detailed report on the attacks there, her eyes narrowed as if she knew just what was behind it all. She gave brisk orders for Nathaniel and Anders to prepare for departure and marched back toward her quarters with the mage struggling to catch up with her, listing all the reasons why she shouldn't be out on any mission at the moment. Nathaniel noticed the slight tremor at her fingertips but refrained from commenting.

Lyna emerged from her room nearly an hour later, her breathing slightly labored as if the effort of donning her leathers nearly did her in. She was pale and looked like death, but she was stubborn to a fault and was soon leading the two men out of the Keep. If she was still in pain, she did not show it. Instead she held herself proudly, her shoulders squared and her chin slightly lifted, giving her a regal air that was common among the Dalish. Nathaniel and Anders could only share helpless glances with each other as their leader pressed on.

Despite their diminutive nature, elves were extremely sturdy. They had taken on several groups of bandits and darkspawn, but the only sign of struggle Lyna showed was through the slightly gasping, uneven breaths she drew. That was until they found the Dalish camp. Lyna fell onto her hands and knees as her legs gave out beneath her. Anders was immediately at her side, but she waved him away as she pressed an ear against the ground.

"Behind us."

Anders yelped as he jumped away from the roots that tried to entangle his legs, shooting orbs of fire at it even as Nathaniel cut away at it with his daggers. Lyna rose on shaky limbs, eyes darting from left to right before catching sight of a figure partially hidden behind a sylvan tree. She drew her bow and quickly loosed an arrow into the trunk of the tree near the person's head.

"Enough!" the stranger cried out, emerging from her hiding place and revealing herself as an elven mage, "How can the Dalish hope to revive our past glory when we slaughter each other like animals?"

Lyna narrowed her eyes, "You started it."

" _Mahariel_ ," the elf spat the name like a curse, "I should've known you'd throw your lot in with the  _shem'alas, seth'lin_."

Anders leaned over and whispered loudly, "I'm a little lost in translation, but I don't think she likes you."

At Lyna's other side, Nathaniel snorted.

" _Ar'din nuvenin na'din_ ," Lyna said softly, lifting her hands in a placating gesture. She held a small trinket made of ironbark in one palm and watched as the other elf's eyes widened.

"Where did you get that?" she questioned harshly.

"We found it on a darkspawn corpse," Lyna explained.

The other elf looked troubled, "Then...the humans didn't take her," she muttered, mostly to herself. She sighed then, a heavy weight lifting off her shoulders. "Please forgive my rudeness, daughter of  _Sabrae_. Things...have been difficult. I will trouble the  _shem_  no longer. Do what you think is just but know that I only wish to seek out the last of my kin."

Lyna strode over to the other Dalish and pressed the pendant into the other's hand, "I did say that I wished not to kill you. Do what you will and good luck."

" _Ma serannas_ ,  _lethallan_." Lyna turned to leave, but the mage grasped her by the elbow at the last moment. "Wait," she gasped, drawing the Warden back around and grasping her by the chin, turning her face from side to side. Suddenly she hissed and stepped away from Lyna, "You bear the mark!"

Lyna's eyes grew wide for a moment before they slipped closed in resignation, "I had suspected… Can it be lifted?"

"I have not the skill. Perhaps Marethari-"

"Marethari is gone from these lands," Lyna snapped. "No, I'm...I'm sorry. My clan left for the North nearly a year ago."

" _Abelas_." The elven mage stole a quick glance at Nathaniel, her brow lifted in consideration before returning her attention to Lyna. She tilted her head in his direction, " _Bel elgar'en in shemlen_ ,  _na falon'eth_."

Lyna's look of surprise was nearly comical as she stammered, " _Ma...shem-...ma falon'eth'din_! That's not possible!"

" _Mythal_  has chosen," the mage nodded sagely, raising her hand and passing her fingers down from Lyna's forehead over her  _vallaslin_  down to her chin, "May she watch over you.  _Dareth shiral, lethallan_. I hope to meet you again one day."

She stepped back, and the three Wardens could only watch in awe and wonder as tree roots sprung up from the ground and engulfed her. Then she was gone.

"Alright," Anders piped up, "What just happened? What were you two going on about? And where can I learn that nifty trick?"

Lyna turned back and looked from Anders to Nathaniel. The former had his brows raised in expectation, and the latter...no, she did not want to think about it now. "Let us finish up here first. I will explain everything when we return to the Keep."

.

Lyna let her head drop onto the hard surface of her desk once again. He was her guardian. By the Dread Wolf, how did she ever get caught up in this mess? Anders and Nathaniel had just left her office. Oghren had been too inebriated to attend, and Sigrun was out with the scouting parties.

She had gone into explaining the various pantheons that were revered by her people and what they represented. There was a little difficulty in explaining the Mark of  _Fen'Harel_ , but she kept it short and concise by saying how a target sign had been drawn on her head, indicating that she was being toyed with by the Lord of Tricksters.

When they inquired about what drew the elf's attention to Nathaniel, Lyna said simply, "She thought he was...uh, handsome." It was an inane remark, one that she was currently bashing her head against the table for.

"Perhaps Bann Esmerelle can just kill me now and be done with it," she groaned.

A deep chuckle sounded from her door, and her head sprang up. Nathaniel stood, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. "Considering everything you've managed to survive through within the past year alone, she can certainly try, but I doubt she'd be able to get within striking range."

"Nathaniel," she nodded, acknowledging him.

He entered fully into the office and shut the door behind him. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her, and she shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. The Warden Commander certainly looked healthier than she did earlier in the day. He thought that perhaps the elven mage had helped boost the sustained healing that Anders had already cast on her body. "What are you hiding?" he asked.

Lyna flinched but did not respond right away. Nathaniel strode forward and took a seat in front of her desk. "I am hiding nothing."

Nathaniel snorted, "And I am the son of a king. We are both terrible liars." Lyna stared at the edge of her desk, unable to face him. "I am a patient man, Commander, but I can also be very persuasive. You would not wish to try me on this matter."

Lyna parted her lips to speak again, "I-"

_Thirteen, fourteen, maids a-courting._

"Oh, no. Not again." She pressed her palms against her temples, leaning her elbows on her desk.

"What is it?" Nathaniel asked warily.

Lyna growled lightly in frustration, "There's... there's this poem that starts up in my head every so often. It always seems to happen right before-"

"How does it go?"

"Uh," Lyna wracked her memory for the initial stanzas, "...one, two...one, two…"

"'Buckle my shoe'."

Lyna froze, staring up at Nathaniel, "Yes. How did you know?"

"It's a counting rhyme. My father taught it to us when we were younger," he explained. "I don't understand why you would hear it though."

"Just now, I heard 'Thirteen, fourteen, maids a-courting'-"

An unearthly scream shattered the otherwise silent evening, and as one, the two Wardens bounded up from their seats and rushed to the door. They sprinted down the corridor and turned a sharp corner. Lyna barreled into Nathaniel when he suddenly stopped in front of her. She peeked around him and tensed. The walls were painted in blood, and a woman's body lay crumpled on the carpet, her limbs twisted out in odd angles, her face bearing a final expression of both surprise and pain, her unseeing eyes wide with fear. Beside her corpse crouched a man who was rocking himself on the balls of his feet, his entire body shaking as he muttered nonsense to himself. He seemed to notice their presence and shrank away at once.

"I didn't...I didn't mean to! I don't know what came over me! I swear, I didn't do it! I wasn't-" His hands were bathed in blood, and he seemed to realize this then, his face contorting in horror as he buried his face in his palms and sobbed loudly.

_Fifteen, sixteen, maids in the kitchen._

Lyna tugged on Nathaniel's sleeve, "Nathaniel…"

He took one look at her and grabbed her by the arm, "Quickly. Perhaps we can prevent the next one."

Anders met them halfway. "Andraste's knicker- Holy Maker, I… Lyna, you need to  _fire_ your staff! They've all gone barmy, slashing at me with their kitchen knives! All's I wanted was a little more chicken, for Maker's sake. I only just managed to freeze them before I was able to escape," he gasped, his eyes wide and unfocused. He was clearly extremely shaken by the experience.

"Anders, go to your rooms and stay there. Bar the door, and do  _not_ open it until I come for you," Lyna ordered.

"Done!" he responded immediately and bolted down the hall, "And I thought we were full up on crazy!" his voice echoed back toward them.

The door opposite them broke open, and at least a dozen of the kitchen help dragged themselves out toward them, looking very much like some undead creatures instead of the women they really were. "Lyna, they must be subdued before they hurt anyone," Nathaniel whispered at her side.

Despite the urgency of their situation, she couldn't help but wonder at how odd her name sounded coming from him. She fumbled through her pockets for the vials she knew she kept on her person. "This poison will only render them unconscious. It works best when it's carried through the bloodstream," she explained, unsheathing a short dagger from her boot and running a generous amount of the thick, viscous substance along the edge of her blade. Nathaniel followed her example, coating the dagger that he commonly carried on his belt.

They sprang into action, diving between bodies and leaping behind each opponent, leaving neat, clean slices along non-vital points and nimbly dodging wild kitchen-knife swings. They worked in sync, striking and ducking in time with each other. Though her partner was a rogue, Lyna thought it felt a lot like fighting alongside-  _Not now…_

_Seventeen, eighteen, maids a-waiting._

She turned at the sound of a child's laugh. It was faint at first but grew stronger as it seemed to come nearer to them. Then it passed by and wandered down the other direction. Lyna took a step forward, but Nathaniel caught her arm. "There's someone waiting for me," she told him firmly and shook out of his grasp. He had little choice but to follow her.

No one had entered the previous Arl's study since his death in Denerim. Most of the staff were spooked by the feel of it, as if there was something ominous prowling within. Lyna hadn't had the time to investigate, but she supposed now was as good a time as any. The door swung open before she even touched it, and there sitting in the Arl's seat was a familiar ghostly elf. She bore none the injuries Lyna had seen in their previous encounters, but the nightgown and the long tresses were unmistakable.

She smiled, a sweet, dimpled smile in a small heart-shaped face. She was beautiful. "I was once called Tabris."

"Tabris?" Lyna echoed. "You are Shianni's cousin."

The ghost elf nodded, "I died to save her, and that I do not regret. But the way I died… I am sorry if I have caused you pain." Lyna and Nathaniel shared a look of confusion, and Tabris graced them with a rueful smile. "I hail from Denerim, but after I killed Vaughan, I was moved here into the cellars where I met my own end at the hands of Arl Howe." Nathaniel flinched at the mention of his father but did nothing. "You've seen my body. You know his methods. 'The last of life lingers in death'."

The ghost rose from the seat and gestured to a small chest resting upon one of the side tables, "It was my mother's, and now it is my parting gift to you. I only ask that you use it well. May your Creators watch over you, my Dalish sister."

The benevolent ghost disappeared then, much like how Tamlen disappeared the very first night. Lyna turned to the chest, but Nathaniel was already prying the lock open. He raised the lid, and Lyna hissed in a breath, "The Fang of  _Fen'Harel_."

She delicately lifted the dagger from the chest, gliding her fingertips along the symbols etched into the hilt, the meaning of the words long since forgotten with the passing of time. Nathaniel went over to his father's desk, seeing the books and notes strewn haphazardly across the surface. His eyes skimmed over its contents, his expression troubled.

"Father was studying Dalish lore," he said, leafing through some of the pages, "He seemed to have invested a great deal of interest in your tales of  _Fen'Harel_."

Lyna grasped the hilt of the Fang tightly, "We need to go down to the cellars.  _Halam sahlin._ "

Nathaniel nodded in agreement, "I will need my bow first."

He brushed past her, intent on stopping by his rooms for his weapon. For a brief moment, his woodsy scent overwhelmed her, and she closed her eyes.

 _Vir Assan_.

Lyna blinked. It was a much different voice than the ones that had been speaking in her mind, this one more gentle and soothing, and she felt comforted, her resolve instantly strengthened.

The cellars seemed a lot less welcoming than it had been when they first ventured in it, which really wasn't saying much, but at least before it didn't feel like the shadows were lengthening as if they were reaching toward their feet. It didn't sound like whispers were at their backs, raising the flesh on their necks. The single rune drawn on the ground in what appeared to be fresh blood was certainly a new development as well.

"What now?" Nathaniel asked.

Lyna turned her gaze up at him and smiled, "Now we fly straight and do not waver." She took his hand in hers and stepped forward onto the rune. The effect was immediate. It felt like a thousand worlds were bearing their weight down onto their shoulders. Every bone in their bodies shattered into many, smaller pieces, and the last thing Lyna remembered was the feeling of being enfolded in Nathaniel's arms as they passed from one plane of existence into another.

.

The Fade was just as Lyna remembered, wide, hazy, and illogical. She turned in place, taking in all of their surroundings. They seemed to be in some imitation of the Arl's study up in the Keep. The large desk and oak wood shelves were situated exactly where they would be in the their realm, except where there should be walls was nothing but open space. A groan rose from somewhere to her right, and Lyna turned, watching Nathaniel pick himself up onto his hands and knees. Strangely enough, she couldn't recall Nathaniel having his hair cropped that short...or in that particular shade of light brown.

"I don't care what you say. I will never get used to being hauled into the Fade that way," he groaned, and Lyna stepped back in shock. The timbre of his voice washed over her, sending a sharp ache through her heart.

Her breaths were shallow, filled with hope and apprehension. "Alistair?" she asked in a small voice.

He lifted his head and looked at her then, and Lyna felt her knees buckle, sinking hard onto the ground as she could do nothing but stare. His face...oh, Creators, his face was just as she remembered it with those sweet dimples and those laughing amber eyes. She pressed a hand against her mouth to stifle a sob that threatened to break through.

He smiled then, that playful, lopsided grin that he reserved for her alone, "Hello, love."

"You- but where's Nathaniel?" She asked, casting a puzzled eye down the leathers he wore.

Alistair shrugged, "He's here. He's been extremely accommodating, considering the fact that...how did that Dalish put it? 'Many souls dwell within him'? The nifty thing about being a wandering spirit is that suddenly, I understand Elvish."

"Then," Lyna was still in a daze, thinking back to the past several weeks, "you compelled him to protect me. You...Goldanna... You are my  _falon'eth_."

He smiled again as he stepped closer to her, lifting her to her feet and cupping her face in his hands, "Your guardian, yes. I'll not see you die at the hands of your Dread Wolf. I would have you live a full life, all thirty years of it."

Lyna half-sobbed, half-laughed as she pressed her cheeks against his hands.

"Oh, but I've missed you, love," he chuckled and lay a feather light kiss on her brow.

Lyna bit her lower lip as she raised herself on her tiptoes, burrowing her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder while he wrapped her in his arms. There was so much she wished to say, so much she wanted to tell him, but no words were able to get past the lump in her throat.

_Nineteen, twenty, my plate's empty._

"How touching, a reunion between a royal bastard and his Dalish whore..." Rendon Howe sat in his chair behind the desk, looking just as he did before he died. "I'm moved to tears, really."

Lyna narrowed her eyes in anger at the audacity of this man, "Why are you here?"

Rendon sneered, "You've faced death several times within recent weeks, and you still haven't figured it out? Allow me to expound in monosyllabic terms: I want you to die."

"So you struck a bargain with  _Fen'Harel_." Rendon beamed and nodded, as if he were praising a child for answering correctly.

"Unfortunately your lover over there is a very loyal guard dog and has succeeded in foiling my plans repeatedly," the Howe patriarch stated simply as he stood and walked around his desk. Lyna kept her eye on him the entire time, her knuckles white as she held Fang in a tight grip. She froze as a low groan and a gurgled cough sounded behind her. "Well, that takes care of that."

She turned slowly, afraid of what she would see. Lyna had already witnessed Alistair's death once; she wasn't sure she'd be able to watch again.

_Vir Bor'assan._

"Oh,  _emma lath_ ," the Fang clattered to the ground from limp fingers as she caught Alistair before he fell. His weight was too much for her, and they both sank to the ground. Blood pooled beneath them, flowing from the knife wound on his back. Lyna didn't think it was possible for spirits to bleed. Tabris stood behind them both, not the Tabris who spoke with them earlier that day but the Tabris who had been tortured to death, her face bashed in beyond recognition, head dangling from the neck that had been stretched to breaking.

Lyna pressed her forehead against his, her tears dripping onto his face even as blood dribbled out the side of his mouth. "It's not too bad, love. I'm already dead anyway," he murmured.

"That's right," Rendon snapped in recollection, "he is. Let's revisit that scene, shall we?"

"No," Lyna gasped but could do nothing but watch helplessly as wounds from the battle with the Archdemon reopened on Alistair's body, his eyes wide and his lips parted in a silent scream. A long cut appeared down the side of his face, just as it did when the dragon swiped at him with a sharp talon. His shoulder jerked, and Lyna cried as she remembered the jaws that had clamped down on him there. A large gash formed at the back of his head, where the beast had thrown him down against the stone.

Then the body stilled, the spirit lifting away to be replaced by the familiar features of Nathaniel Howe. She sat there, silently clutching at the body and rocking back and forth.

Rendon clucked his tongue behind her, "It seems I've broken her. Pity. It was always more fun when you put up a fight." He had picked Fang up from the ground where she had dropped it and was twirling it idly in his hand.

"You're wrong," her voice, though tinged with grief, was strong. "That is not the way of the Dalish." She gently lay Nathaniel on the ground and stood on shaky legs, turning to face the older Howe. "Though you may hound me with my nightmares, though you may roam the Beyond seeking your next prey, you cannot beat me.  _Ma halam, Fen'Harel_."

Her foot tapped once on the ground before she rushed forward, disappearing and reappearing at the previous Arl's back, drawing her boot knife and driving it into his side. He pivoted and swung the Fang wildly around, a move which she ducked and rolled under. A boot caught her under the chin, throwing her back several feet as she struggled to keep her footing.

"You should have left when you had the chance, Warden," Rendon snarled, his appearance shifting, his face bearing more of a resemblance to wolf than man. "Slunk back to the Anderfels with the rest of your kind."

Lyna spat, wiping the blood off her chin with the back of her hand, "You would've died either way, to the edge of my blade or to the Archdemon's army."

"I would've  _ruled_  Ferelden, bringing more honor to House Howe than any of my line had ever accomplished!" He stood taller now, his body lengthening even as his back hunched over slightly, the muscles in his limbs thickening, claws emerging from the tips of his fingers and toes.

_Vir Adahl'en._

He crouched low, preparing to spring at her. "I...deserved…" An arrow whistled by her ear and embedded itself in the wolf man's throat, drawing a strangled whine from his as he reared back in pain. Lyna leapt forward at the opening and disarmed him, grasping at the hilt of the Fang and plunging it deep into his chest. Rage-filled eyes widened in disbelief before the disfigured body of Rendon Howe vanished, a bright orb hovering in it's place.

_You have beaten me at my own game, elf child. For that, you have earned my respect._

The glowing orb pulsed once before it, too, disappeared, as did their surroundings. The Fade conjured furniture all faded away, bringing them both back into their realm. The rune that had been drawn beneath their feet was also gone.

Fingers brushed lightly against her elbow, and Lyna turned to see Nathaniel gazing down at her, his bow still grasped firmly in hand. "Are you alright, Lyna?"

She looked up at him and blinked. For the briefest of moments, Alistair was there instead, smiling down at her. She blinked again, and it was Nathaniel again, staring at her as if she had grown a second head. She smiled warmly, "I will be now, thank you." Her shoulders rose and fell in time with her sigh of relief, "Let's get back upstairs then, shall we?"

The two Wardens left the lower levels of the Keep, neither one noticing the elven girl skipping over to where they were standing before, reaching a hand down and drawing a rune with a blood-tipped finger. She looked up at their retreating backs, her lips spread wide in a wolfish, mischievous grin before fading away, waiting for the cycle to begin again.

 _Come, come, bonny Lynne; tell us, tell us where you've been_.

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ma serannas - Thank you  
> Shem'alas - Dirty humans  
> Seth'lin - Thin blood  
> Ar'din nuvenin na'din - I don't want to kill you  
> Shem - Human  
> Lethallan - Friend; someone who's familiar  
> Abelas - An expression of sorrow  
> Bel elgar'en in shemlen, na falon'eth - Many spirits dwell in [that] human, your safe-friend  
> Ma falon'eth'din - [He] is not my safe-friend  
> Dareth shiral - Farewell; safe journey  
> Halam sahlin - This ends now  
> Vir Assan - The Way of the Arrow; "Fly straight and do not waver"  
> Vir Bor'assan - The Way of the Bow; "Bend but never break"  
> Vir Adahl'en - The Way of the Forest; "Together we are stronger than the one"  
> Ma halam, Fen'Harel - You are finished, Fen'Harel
> 
> * "One, Two, Buckle My Shoe" is an English counting rhyme. I don't know how it managed to worm its way into the story. It just happened.


End file.
